


Accidentally in Love

by grace_lou_freebush



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Eventual HEA, F/M, Fluff, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Inspired by Daphne and Apollo (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Love Potion/Spell, Pining, Potions, Unrequited Love, Where Gods Dwell Dramione Fest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:15:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22233154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grace_lou_freebush/pseuds/grace_lou_freebush
Summary: Theo is brewing a potion when Draco barges in and ruins his night. Now he needs revenge.A Dramione reimagining of the Greek myth of Apollo and Daphne.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 52
Kudos: 155
Collections: Where Gods Dwell: A Dramione Fest





	1. Well I Didn't Mean to Do It

**Author's Note:**

> My chosen myth for this fest was Apollo and Daphne. If you're interested in reading the original myth, I have the [link](https://www.thoughtco.com/apollo-and-daphne-by-thomas-bulfinch-119892); it's super short, but really interesting, imo!
> 
> I would be remiss if I didn't acknowledge all the wonderful work my betas did! [mcal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcal/pseuds/mcal) was, as always, a wonderful source of positivity; thank you so much for looking over my fic so quickly and offering all your feedback! I cannot thank [Lunamionny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunamionny) enough for her diligent Brit-picking and betaing despite the tight timeline. This is seriously a much more fluid, cohesive, and well rounded story due to both of these ladies' fabulous work!
> 
> I obviously don't own Harry Potter or make any money off my works, so no copyright infringement is intended!
> 
> And, lastly, the title comes from the song of the same title by Counting Crows; I was frequently reminded of this song while plotting and writing, and it seemed fitting. The chapter names and a few lines scattered in this fic also come from the lyrics. Bonus points to the House of your choosing if you can spot them!

Theo sat back from the open top of his cauldron. Despite the draw to peer over the edge and examine the contents, he knew that his brow was too heavy with perspiration to risk ruining his delicate brew with a drop of sweat.

He'd been slaving over the same potion for nearly three months now as he had needed to harvest a couple of the ingredients on a full moon, and a few more required steeping for two weeks before he deemed them acceptable. In addition, he had to track down a rare flower that had not only bloomed on a leap year, which had occurred two years prior, but also had a habit of shocking its herbologist - and had thus been difficult to acquire.

The humidity in the dungeon classroom had risen, and though Theo could feel wisps of his sandy hair sticking to his temples and forehead, he knew the rest of it must be poofy and unkempt. Unable to smother the urge for a peek, he leaned forward and glanced at the shimmery purple potion from a safe distance. He sighed in relief and promptly retreated to sitting back in his chair.

Now he only needed to let the contents simmer at exactly one hundred and two point seven degrees Celsius for one hundred and twenty-seven hours without a stasis charm. Simple. 

Or was it one hundred and seven point two degrees Celsius? Panicking, Theo fumbled through the pages of his potions book until he found the correct page: one hundred and two point seven degrees Celsius for one hundred and twenty-seven hours. He sighed in relief as a hot bead of moisture trickled down the edge of his cheek and lingered on the corner of his jaw before dropping to his robes.

The door banged open, and Theo tried not to flinch - he really did - but it was still too soon after his father had finally, _finally_ been sentenced to a triple lifetime sentence in Azkaban, and Theo hadn't yet wrapped his head around the idea that he was _free_ of that maniac.

In the open doorway stood Draco, Slytherin's Golden Boy. The torchlight in the corridor backlit his frame so that he really appeared that way: blond hair lit like a halo, pale skin glowing healthily, and chiseled, angular features fit for an angel. And a shiny new pardon from the Ministry to match his handsome features. Theo tried not to seethe in envy.

"Whatcha doing, Nott?" Draco ambled straight up to the cauldron and leaned over the top. A few locks of fine hair that were floating elegantly above his eyes sent Theo's heart into anxious palpitations. As Draco straightened, Theo watched one loose strand of hair drift from his head and land a few scant centimetres from the edge of the culmination of hours of Theo's ceaseless, strenuous work.

Fidgeting for a moment before compulsively brushing the strand away, Theo replied as airily as he could. "Just my application brew for a Potions Mastery that Professor Snape has recommended me for."

"Ah, yes," Draco examined his perfectly manicured nails, "The one with Potioneer Mulpepper? How banal. But I suppose you would be a good fit for it. I, of course, was offered to study alongside Madam Prickel straight away. I'm working with her over the weekends as I didn't want to lose the opportunity to take my NEWTs. Very prestigious opportunity, of course, to showcase my skills."

Theo could neither contain nor hide his glower at that.

Draco had always been a braggart, and his wealth and family name had always allowed for him to excel quickly where others had to toil in hard work. It was little consolation that he perhaps deserved a prestigious apprenticeship in this case. And, despite his _laissez faire_ attitude, Theo knew he too carried weight from the War. But he was still a right git, even to those he called "friend," which stoked flames of resentment and anger in Theo's chest.

"Well," his rival said with a firm clap on his tense shoulder, "I'm off to the common room. I just saw the light under the door and thought I'd do my Prefect's duty to check out any nefarious activity in here." Draco's signature smirk lifted his lips, and a brotherly glint Theo didn't feel he could reciprocate entered his eyes, like there was a joke that Theo was failing to grasp. Draco conjured a towel. "Here you go, mate. Watch your flame, I think you're dipping down toward one hundred and two point six. You still have, what? One hundred and twenty-six and a half hours to go?" And with that, he flounced out the door without waiting for a response.

Fuming, Theo was compelled to check the temperature, and blast Malfoy, but he was right. Lightly fanning the flame to keep the temperature steady, Theo ruminated on his entitled, unfairly talented, and conceited classmate.

Three and a half hours later, when he only had one hundred and twenty-three more hours of this tedious task to go, he was interrupted again by the door opening, this time much more gently. Turning in what he hoped was not a frightened, jumpy manner, Theo found Hermione Granger poking her head around the door. She must have been on Head Girl rounds.

"Sorry, Nott. It's curfew. You'll have to pack up for the night." She didn't particularly sound remorseful, but she wasn't docking points, either. Despite bad blood – pretty literally, too – between several of the Slytherins and her, she was surprisingly fair-minded.

Rummaging in his robe pocket, he fished out a parchment and offered it out to her. As he didn't stand from his seat, she had to enter the classroom fully to inspect it.

"I'm working on an application potion. I've permission from Professors Snape and McGonagall."

"Oh, alright then," she responded. "Good luck, then. Don't wear yourself out. I'm probably not the best example to say that, but Harry and Ron are always telling me I need to practice self care and not waste away in the library. Anyway, good night."

As she exited and softly closed the door behind her, a devious plan sprouted in his mind. Draco needed to be brought down a dozen pegs, and Theo knew the perfect revenge.

~*~

Theo was absent from Potions class the next week, so he missed the lecture Professor Snape droned out about how serious an offense it was to steal from his personal stores.

Instead, he was bent over a second cauldron as he brewed a separate, more extracurricular, potion, while routinely checking on the temperature of his original. After all, he only had sixteen hours, four minutes, and two seconds left to go before he needed to add the plant-based ingredients, already neatly weighed, chopped, and stacked in order on the bench beside the cauldrons. Theo was nothing if not meticulous.

His auxiliary potion was a tweaked version of a NEWT level staple but not nearly as involved nor complicated as the one he was brewing for his apprenticeship application. In fact, after only forty-five minutes of gentle stirring in an anticlockwise direction, he'd be nearly finished. The distinctive swirling steam was already beginning to rise from the pearlescent liquid.

Brewing it was the easy part, however. The next step of his plan would need to wait until at least the next day when he could focus on the delicate and subtle task of administering the dose without arousing suspicion. For now, he diligently stirred one cauldron while methodically maintaining the temperature of the other.

~*~

Green apples were one of Draco's favourite things, especially caramel covered green apples. He and Theo had been mates since they’d been in nappies, so clearly the Nott heir would be alright with offering up a bite or four of the delicious treat to an equal – or, if Draco were being honest instead of kind, a superior.

As such, Draco felt no qualms in plopping down – elegantly, mind you – at the Slytherin dinner table next to his classmate, snatching the snack out of his fingers, and munching a solid bite out of the fruit’s juicy flesh.

"Just testing for poison, mate," Draco assured his housemate after savoring and swallowing the mouthful. The sweet caramel cut the tart bite of the fresh apple beautifully. The flesh was crisp but not grainy. The sugary coating was melt-in-the-mouth smooth.

Holding in a groan of contentment, Draco stole another bite, his eyelids slipping shut so that he could focus fully on the medley of flavors dancing across his taste buds. When he resurfaced, he discovered that he'd devoured the dessert down to the core and the nearly empty Great Hall was reduced to three people: himself, Theo, and a devine beauty one table over.

Her lustrous brown curls looked like an ethereal cloud about her face. Draco ached to tangle his fingers in the tight ringlets to see if they were as soft as they appeared. Her tanned skin had a healthy glow despite the cold autumn months that had left the students sequestered mostly indoors. Wide eyes fletched with thick, dark lashes were turned down towards the table where she held a thick book.

A fine line etched itself between her bold eyebrows in clear concentration, and her white front teeth pressed lightly into her full, mauve lower lip, yanking a visceral yearning to life in his groin.

Shoving the fresh core into Theo's hands without checking to make sure he caught it, Draco _Scourgified_ his hands clean, fixed his fringe, and got up from the table to approach the beautiful goddess. Stepping up to the table in front of her, he was mildly miffed when his presence did not inspire her to look up.

He cleared his throat. She didn't even flinch from her reading, turning a page in her absorption. The way her dark eyes followed the lines of text caused a desperate desire to bubble up in his gut. He _needed_ this dazzling creature. He would surely perish without her attention and good opinion.

Draco leaned forward, placing his palms on the edge of the table. "Granger," he purred.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" She intoned without lifting her gaze. "I already switched your Prefect rounds this weekend. Again."

The slight roll of her eyes was the most emotion she'd shown him yet, and immediately he decided contempt was better than apathy. But open admiration would be so much more gratifying, as well as deserved.

"Did I ever tell you the reason why I needed the switch?"

"No, and I really couldn't care less as long as you don't skip your shift on Friday."

Her eyes remained steadfast on her text, and while that irritated Draco, he made a mental note to be on time for his evening rounds at the end of the week.

"I'm apprenticing under Potioneer Prickel on the weekends. By the time we take NEWTs, I will also be prepared to sit for a Potions Mastery." Surely the brilliant witch before him would recognize what an honour and the prestige that was and be impressed.

At long last, Hermione tucked the broken end of a quill between the open pages of her book and closed the tome before lifting her dark eyes to his light ones.

"Why are you telling me this, Malfoy? I never cared for your childish boasting; if you want a fight, try owling Ron."

The derision in her voice and exasperation in her molten eyes cut Draco deeply. His ego waned like a boulder whose levitation charm had been released unexpectedly. But he couldn't give up now. She was still conversing with him, still looking at him.

"Please, call me Draco—"

Interrupting him, she said, "What's your problem?" 

The disdain was back in full force, pulling him up short from his usual suave wheedling.

"What's my problem? I don't know…" Pausing to think for the first time since he'd laid his eyes on her, he took stock of himself. There was something niggling at the back of his mind telling him that he should _not_ be interested in her – something about inferiority. 

But that was silly.

What could possibly be inferior about this celestial creature? She was gorgeous. She was intelligent. She made his heart race with the slightest glance. He could happily spend the rest of his life ensuring her every desire came true. The thought of her disappearing from his life caught the breath in his lungs and froze it.

"Well, maybe I'm in love." The word came rolling off his tongue before he could second guess himself. The sentiment felt right, even if he'd never been in love before.

"You're… in love," the exquisite nymph before him deadpanned, clearly not taking him seriously (she was so frustratingly perfect). "...with me," she finished while peering over Draco's shoulder.

Turning to see what had caught her attention so he could vanish it or destroy it into smithereens, he noticed that Theo had vacated his spot at the Slytherin table, which was exactly where the love of his life was scrutinizing. That was a relief; it would have been a pity to have to kill the Nott heir.

Clearing his throat to garner her attention, Draco felt hubris warm his chest when her eyes flicked back to him. He was equally relieved that he was still leaning against the table when Hermione unleashed a blindingly stunning smile at him, as his knees nearly buckled at the sight.

"I need to speak with Madame Pomfrey, would you be willing to accompany me?"

Her voice was silk to his ears, but the words stuttered him to a stop as they settled in his mind.

Suddenly alarmed, he stood up straight and said, "Are you alright? Can you walk? I'd be happy to carry you. What's wrong?"

She smothered the flicker of a scowl with another smile, this one reassuring.

"No, no. I'm perfectly alright. And I _don't_ need you to carry me."

She was so strong, Draco fondly thought, but he'd be there with her, just in case she needed him.

~*~

Hermione's smile must have seemed genuine, she mused to herself, as she led Malfoy to the hospital wing.

Something was very wrong with her classmate, and while his sudden infatuation with her lended itself to Amortentia, he was not nearly as pushy or foggy as she would have expected.

But still, he hovered nearer to her every time she tried to shy away from his side.

When they reached the hospital wing, Hermione quickly sought out the matron and, in low tones, informed her of Malfoy's conspicuous change of behavior. Madam Pomfrey agreed that it sounded like a strain of love potion and bustled about in search of an antidote.

"We have to be careful on the dosing, or Mr. Malfoy will end up completely apathetic for the foreseeable future," she informed Hermione. Measuring out the potion, Madam Pomfrey mixed it into a glass of pumpkin juice. "Here, dear, you should be the one to offer him a drink." And she handed the glass to Hermione.

"Oh, erm, Mal- _Draco_ , I have a drink for you." She obediently held it out towards him.

Reverently taking the cup from her, Malfoy asked, "Are you going to be a healer? You'd be really good at it." A dopey smile affixed itself to his lips. It was so out of place; she was so used to a self-confident smirk instead.

"Er, no. I hadn't thought of it," she managed self-consciously as she watched him down the potion in two swallows. His long, alabaster neck extended up, and his jagged Adam's apple bobbed with the long pulls of his gulps. Hermione prayed to the founders that this would cure him, and they could revert back to their usual disregard for each other.

Malfoy had mostly kept his head down since returning to Hogwarts for his ‘eighth year’ following the War. Professor Snape had vouched for the Malfoy family subsequent to his long recovery following the Final Battle, and Hermione assumed Draco had decided to take advantage of his good graces by attending a final year of schooling. Between Snape's accounts and Harry's testimonies for both Narcissa and Draco, the whole Malfoy line had managed to avoid any major repercussions following Voldemort's demise.

Despite Malfoy's relative quiet in the hallways and over the weekends, Hermione preferred to steer clear of the Pureblood when possible. However, they were occasionally forced into mutual teamwork during Head Girl and Prefect's duties, such as scheduling rounds. So far Malfoy had managed exactly zero disparaging remarks towards her; though he had made her reschedule every weekend duty she'd arranged. Hermione had thought it had been out of spite, but if he were telling the truth about a potions apprenticeship with one of the leading Herbologists and Potioneers of their time, she might be forced to take that back.

As it were, she prayed that the antidote would work properly, and they could both forget this ever happened.

On finishing the last drops of his drink, Malfoy conjured a napkin with a flourish and a surreptitious eye on Hermione and patted his upper lip dry.

"Thank you for that, love. It was quite delicious and really hit the spot."

Hermione jerked a questioning glance at Madam Pomfrey. The matron merely bustled about Malfoy, checking his temperature and pupil reaction without comment.

"Do you need to keep him overnight?" Hermione asked, a glimmer of hope shining through her tone. "Maybe it would help if I left and gave him some space?"

“Left? Where are you going? I’m right as wandwork; I can go with you.” Malfoy sidestepped Madam Pomfrey to stand directly in front of her. His height towered over her, and his earnest, glimmering eyes bored into hers.

“No, Miss Granger, I don’t think so,” Madam Pomfrey interjected. “You should both stay right here for the time being. In fact, I think you both need to stay in overnight. This was no ordinary love potion, and I need to make sure there are no lasting effects before letting you both go.”

Hermione watched Malfoy’s eyes relax as he nodded his agreement. He stepped back to give her more space, and she no longer needed to crane her neck up to see his face.

Clearing her throat reluctantly, Hermione complied with Madam Pomfrey. When the hospital matron got that tone, there really was no use in arguing. Finding a pair of pajamas in a cupboard, she stepped behind the privacy curtain of a nearby hospital bed and changed.

Upon reemerging, Hermione found Malfoy standing by the adjacent bed, staring forlornly at her. A bright flush stained his pale cheeks when she caught him doing so. Deciding she didn’t want to know where his thoughts had gone, she ignored the heat that crawled up the back of her neck and sat down in the middle of her modest mattress.

She could hear the faint shuffling of Madam Pomfrey in her office, probably preparing charts or researching obscure Amortentia potions. Hermione was aware she would come back out to check on her and Malfoy soon to make sure they were following orders properly. Hermione stifled a heavy sigh and saw Malfoy perch himself on the edge of his bed, facing her.

“So, a love potion, huh?” Malfoy asked, breaking their silence.

Glaring at him as if it were his fault, Hermione retorted, “Well, you did declare that you’re in love with me.”

“I suppose I did. That pumpkin juice seemed to take the edge off, though. I suppose it was mixed with a general Amortentia antidote - Wiggentree twigs, castor oil, and gurdyroot.”

“Madam Pomfrey had some on hand,” she said stiffly. Obviously the antidote hadn’t worked as intended if Malfoy was feeling chatty with her. Ugh, what was she going to tell Ginny when her nosy friend noticed she hadn’t gone to bed in their dorm tonight?

“Hmm. I wonder why it didn’t work properly.” Without giving her time to reply, he continued, “Not that it really matters; symptoms don’t typically last longer than twenty-four hours.” A small frown tugged down on the corner of his lips in thought.

Hermione tried to ignore him, but a niggling thought wriggled its way into her brain and wouldn’t rest. Malfoy reposed, seemingly at ease, on the side of his bed. He didn’t exert any excess energy by way of his fingers fidgeting or toes tapping or knees knocking. Even his conversation was calm and collected.

“You’re not as obsessive as I expected someone dosed with a strong love potion would be.” Hermione’s bombarding thoughts eventually refused to be contained and spilled out into the air between them.

Malfoy hummed. “At dinner I was hit with the overwhelming single-mindedness to be with you. Now, it’s more like everything about you is just… perfect.” Another glazed smile covered his countenance while Hermione grimaced.

Just then Madam Pomfrey shuffled out of her office and reprimanded the two of them for not resting. Once Malfoy had changed into his own set of pajamas and settled between the covers of his chosen bed, she dimmed the lights with her wand.

Hermione lay awake for a long time before sleep finally claimed her.

~*~

Draco could not get Granger out of his head. She wanted nothing to do with him, for good reason considering their past, but any time she walked past him, he would pause and watch her. He’d memorized her class schedule, and her rounds schedule, and her breakfast, lunch, and dinner routines.

She smelled like fire and water. A dichotomy. A contradiction – like a magically talented Muggleborn – or so he’d always been taught to believe. Now, he just couldn’t make that idea stick nor, he realized, did he want to. Not with her, and not with any Muggleborn, either.

She also smelled like ancient books — sharp, pungent ink on worn, warm parchment. And peppermint and chocolate. Her breath was always minty fresh, and she seemed to carry around a block of Honeyduke's best at all times, nibbling on them in the library and for dessert in the Great Hall. He even knew that Potter kept her stocked because she'd dropped the accompanying note on her way out the Hall when the package had made her late for class.

She was kind to the underclassmen, especially those who were homesick or didn’t have a friend. She was quick with her wand to defend the defenseless, stopping petty duels in the corridors before anyone was struck with boils or jinxed with overgrown, bushy eyebrows or forced to vomit slugs or Transfigured into a ferret.

Draco chose seats in class that afforded him direct sightlines over the witch of his desires. She excelled in her studies: always the first one with her hand in the air to answer questions, consistently the first to master the charm or transfiguration project of the day, frequently handing in homework scrolls thicker than the assignment required. Potions was a favourite of his in which to observe her as the humidity puffed her hair into a wild mane and the most adorable look of concentration affixed itself to her features. Her unique scent would swirl on the steam of whatever brew they were working on for that lesson, surrounding him and distracting him from his own cauldron.

But she didn’t want him the way he wanted her. She didn’t want him at all. And so he relegated himself to watching her from a safe distance, as inconspicuously as possible. And he counted down the days until graduation, when she would join the masses as another ministry cog and he would pursue his own potions lab.

It had been weeks since the initial onset of his obsession, since that first day when he'd rediscovered her and they had slept in neighboring beds in the hospital wing. He still thought about that night, when Granger had fallen asleep and he'd laid on his side – the opposite side that he usually slept on – watching and hearing her even breaths as she slumbered peacefully. He'd pondered her words as he'd drifted off. _You're not as obsessive as I expected someone dosed with a strong love potion to be._

He still pondered on those words.

Because, now, weeks after he'd unknowingly consumed some variation of Amortentia, he still felt obsessed with her. Not in that I'll-die-if-she's-not-mine way he vividly remembered from the Great Hall, but every day that passed, she became a little more perfect to him. 

Not to say that he was ignorant to her faults.

She was bossy in class and tended to fix a fellow classmate's blunder without asking or without his consent. Without exception, she believed her way was the best way and the right way, and she stubbornly maintained her position, even when faced with confrontation – which was surprisingly often. One morning during breakfast, Draco had overheard her lamenting over a Quidditch match taking precedence over her usual revision time to the exasperated arguments of her peers. (Her comments had followed him out onto the pitch, and he'd missed the snitch from right under his nose, costing Slytherin the game and securing Gryffindor the Cup.) 

But her faults weren't a turn off for him; they conjured no negative feelings whenever he thought of them – of course, losing the Quidditch Cup had stung, but he couldn't really blame _her_ for that. Any perceived shortcomings were just part of her, and there wasn't anything about Hermione Granger that he didn't find alluring and desirable. 

Except for the fact that _she_ detested _him_.

Hermione wasn't the only one with less than preferable opinions of him, though. His list of friends and acquaintances had dwindled into single digits. Not many of the Pureblood students he had grown up with had returned to Hogwarts, and those he had befriended over the first five years of schooling had abandoned their good favor of him when he'd been hoodwinked by the grandeur that Umbridge had promised, or when he’d withdrawn during sixth year, and had refused to forgive him following his indictment.

Watching Hermione conversing animatedly in the front row of Charms with Anthony Goldstein – regretfully, one of those whom he could no longer count on as a study partner or admirer – Draco stifled a sigh and distractedly practiced his Protean Charm. It was impossible for him not to consider that Hermione had mastered and used the intricate, challenging spell as a fifth year, before even completing OWLs. Salazar, he did not deserve the magnificent witch, Draco thought to himself.

Nott sat beside him, as silent and awkward as ever. His wand work was haphazard, and Draco snickered when the trinkets he was supposed to be turning green flashed through a myriad of colours at random. His friend glared back while righting the objects back to their original pigment. He had the largest broomstick shoved up his ass sometimes, Draco thought, as that disastrous attempt at the Colour Charm had been rather entertaining.

Solitude was unnatural for Draco. In classes he constantly found himself biting the tip of his tongue to refrain from unleashing his hilarious, snarky remarks. He'd stopped charming paper cranes to fly about the common room, and making funny badges that rotated through multiple insults at the prod of a wand, when he’d realized his audience had shrunk into nonexistence.

When he’d realized he couldn't confide in anyone during his sixth year – not Pansy or Vince or Greg – it had nearly killed him. A fucking wailing ghost girl had been the closest thing to a confidante he'd had that year, and it had been torture. Whenever he'd wanted to relax and have a go at Potter to earn the musical laughter of their peers, he'd had to sneak off to the Room of Hidden Things instead. While this year had the distinct advantage of his family not being in danger if he failed an impossible task, the loneliness was just as suffocating.

Goldstein moved off to compare notes with another classmate, and Draco exhaled through his nose, relaxing significantly when he noticed Granger was on her own again. 

"You're pining," Nott muttered.

Instantaneously on the defensive, Draco exclaimed, "I am not!"

Nott merely shrugged, not even bothering to respond properly.

"I am not," he stressed. He had a good poker face, there was no way anyone could tell that he was fairly sure he was in love with Hermione. Or that he thought about it, and every time he thought about it, he couldn't stop thinking about it. With a flick of his wand, he turned the first of his baubles green, and the rest followed suit, as if to indicate that the conversation was resolved and over.

Professor Flitwick glanced his way just then – there was no doubt he hadn't seen Draco successfully complete the charm – but instead of awarding Slytherin the five points he'd rightfully earned, the professor turned abruptly and congratulated Goldstein on a sub-par execution of the spell. Mood fouled, Draco counted down the hours until his weekly meeting with Madam Prickel, seemingly the only time in his life that he could relax, bent over a cauldron and identifying the various ingredients in a multitude of potions.

~*~

The students were coming upon a slew of exams and projects that were all due within the next week or two, as per what always seemed to happen at this time of year. Hermione, despite staying on top of her revision and homework, was feeling the added strain. Every test was surely a practice for their ever encroaching NEWTs, and she wanted to score well.

Because the whole school seemed to be in the same predicament, the library was full. Hermione had been relegated to a shoddy corner table with names and initials and jinxes and swear words carved into every centimeter of the wood’s grain. Her favourite table was occupied by a rambunctious group of fifth year Hufflepuffs; with any luck Madam Pince would kick them out, and Hermione could reclaim it as her own.

While glaring steadily at the group in question, she failed to notice a figure come and stand across the table from her.

"Granger."

Spinning in shock, Hermione was confronted with Malfoy standing before her. His posture and the glint in his eye reminded her distinctly of the time, months ago, when he had approached her after dinner, clearly inebriated with a love potion.

She'd felt his eyes on her ever since: in class, in the Great Hall, in the library. She wondered if he was being consistently spiked with Amortentia, but as he kept his distance, she’d decided she would mind her own business and let him handle his problems himself.

But now he stood behind the chair opposite her, a hand resting confidently on the backrest.

"It seems the other desks are occupied. Would you mind terribly if I encroached on yours? I won't distract you with mindless chatter." He smirked and flicked a knowing eye towards the cluster of Hufflepuffs giggling over their textbooks.

Wishing she could smother the creeping blush that threatened to embarrass her, she nodded firmly, grabbing up an unused tome on the other side of her workspace to make room for her unlikely study partner. He smoothly removed his bag, slid into his seat, and placed his own notes and texts onto the table in orderly piles. His parchments weren’t crumpled and loose like Harry and Ron's had always been, and the first half of his essay was pristine and neat.

Staying true to his word, he bent his head and, after finding his place in his essay, got to work. Taking a breath to steady herself and tell herself this was completely ordinary – that there was nothing at all odd about two students in the same year working on homework at the same table in the library – she, too, set to her revision.

After perhaps half an hour, Malfoy spoke for the first time since sitting down.

"It appears that your usual table is free."

At her questioning look, he tipped his brow over her shoulder, towards the Hufflepuffs who were collecting their gear and covering yawns with the crooks of their elbows.

"Oh!" With a grateful, small smile in Malfoy's direction, she swished her wand at her work and floated it all over to the table before anyone else could steal it from her again. Vaguely, she acknowledged that Malfoy failed to follow her, except with his eyes. She only fleetingly considered how he would have only spotted the exodus of the students if his attention had been up instead of on his work.

~*~

In the ensuing days, Hermione found it difficult not to notice Malfoy with increasing frequency. Where he’d usually faded into the background due to his recently acquired reserved nature and her general desire to forget he existed, she now perceived with glaring clarity his lack of participation in classes – he rarely earned House points for answering questions or completing spells despite obviously learning them quickly. She noticed for the first time his overall reclusiveness – no longer did he crack jokes in his carefully practiced volume that carried from the back of the room to the front row of desks but no further, nor did he cast charms designed to inspire awe and amusement from their peers.

While her preoccupation with Malfoy unnerved her, she was quite glad not to have to deal with his mean-spirited behavior. She was sure it was still there, buried beneath a heap of love potion and unpopularity. Every so often, she would catch him leaning towards Nott to whisper some remark, and based on Nott's less than impressed expressions, his sense of humor must not have matured over the years.

The only time Hermione was granted a reprieve from her unwelcome admirer was over the weekends when Malfoy was spirited away for his prestigious apprenticeship. Despite the extra work she had to put in to rearrange or pick up his rounds schedule, she could breathe easier knowing she wasn’t going to accidentally bump into him loitering around the corner of the corridor, pretending to mind his own business. 

Then, finally, she was able to leave Hogwarts – and Malfoy – behind for a time for the much needed holidays.

Hermione spent the Christmas break at the Burrow and visiting her parents in St. Mungos, where they were still recovering eighteen years worth of memories. It was a bittersweet time, and her mind was kept busy and occupied with the ever expanding Weasley clan and the inevitable highs and lows of mind healing magic.

Unfortunately, her time with loved ones couldn’t last forever, and she and Ginny were seen off to Hogwarts by a sea of redheads and one messy mop of black hair, who stood waving on platform nine and three-quarters. They located a compartment with Luna, and the three of them, along with all the other students who had gone home for the holidays, whiled away the hours until they would be back to classes and homework and exams. When Hermione returned to the compartment she had tucked away into with Ginny and Luna after a trip to the loo, she found a package stuck to the door.

It was a slim box a little longer than the length of her hand, wrapped haphazardly with plain, green paper and tied with a gorgeous red and gold ribbon. A tag poked out of the curlique bow.

When Hermione asked her friends if they knew what “the box” was, Ginny scrambled out of the compartment with Luna trailing gracefully behind her. Taking a fleeting look at the present, Ginny grabbed for it immediately. Despite several strong tugs from the redhead, the little package didn’t budge. Luna fluffed the ribbon a bit where Ginny’s grip had crumpled the bow and turned the tag over.

“It’s for you, Hermione,” she said airily. “It doesn’t say who the giver is, though. Perhaps you have a secret admirer.” 

Hermione jerked at the blithe comment. She knew about one admirer already and doubted she had a second, secret one to compete with Malfoy. With a start, she realized she hadn’t thought of him or his odd preoccupation with her for the whole holiday. She wondered if he’d also been dosed with Amortentia while he’d been home, if he were leaving her a gift on her compartment door.

As always more observant than her glassy eyes appeared, Luna noticed Hermione’s reaction.

“Oh! Do you know who your secret admirer is?” Her head tilted and one of the shoestrings she’d plaited into her platinum locks flopped over her shoulder, a flash of violet against the inky black of her school robes.

“No,” Hermione firmly insisted. “No one fancies me.” _Not really_ , she finished to herself, ignoring the twinge that pinched her heart. She’d made a resolution to find happiness this year, after all of the pain and heartache of 1998, and ruminating on her love life did _not_ constitute as being positive and happy. Instead, she watched as Ginny used a variety of spells in an attempt to remove the present from the door.

“I could always just dismantle this portion of the door,” she suggested after about two dozen different charms had failed to extract it.

“Of course you can’t!” Hermione exclaimed. “We’ll just leave it. It’s not a big deal.”

As she made to reenter the compartment, Luna calmly asked, “Why don’t you try to take it down, Hermione?”

“Well, I’m sure if Ginny’s spells couldn’t do the trick, mine wouldn’t help, either.”

“It’s for you, Hermione. Just take it. And do be careful with the bow. It’s quite lovely wrapping.”

Hermione and Ginny exchanged a glance. While the paper and ribbon were fine quality, the wrapping job was certainly on the lower end of the spectrum.

Luna continued as if she were explaining that shoelaces were meant for hair accessories and not to secure trainers to one’s feet, “Hand done is always much nicer and more meaningful than having the shop assistant do the job for you.”

Unwilling to argue with the witch, Hermione shrugged and reached out her hand to gently grasp the package. Sliding her finger between the back of the box and the door, she felt it give instantly, and instead of prying it away, she was able to simply pull it down with little resistance. Unsurprisingly, due to its size, the present was quite light, and Hermione hoped it wasn’t going to be some sort of expensive necklace that she’d never wear and have to explain to her friends.

Shuffling back to their seats, the three girls peered at the gift held loosely in Hermione’s hand.

“Well, it’s not going to open itself,” Ginny finally decided. Pursing her lips, Hermione had to concur. Suddenly, she wished she didn’t have an audience for this.

Carefully peeling the ribbon off the corner of the package, she ripped the edge of the paper next to a cattywampus piece of spellotape. Inside the box, she uncovered a beautiful set of bookmarks.

One was in the shape of a teacup made out of heavy paper in a crimson and marigold print; it had a cotton string that hung off the top with a matching scarlet, square tag with an amber _H_ in the center. The second was a pressed peacock feather in a clear laminate material. The third and last was made of a soft plastic and had a small red arrow that slid up and down the length of the bookmark, presumably to help keep her place on the page.

"What do they do?" Ginny plucked the 2D teacup out of the box, examining its quality.

"They're bookmarks. They don't ' _do_ ' anything, just keep my place in my books."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Well, duh, I know that! I just meant 'what magical properties do they have?'"

"None, I guess," Hermione shrugged. "They appear Muggle to me." She toyed with the corner of the peacock feather one, making it _tck_ against her fingernail.

At this point, Luna chimed in with her typical measured tone, "That's a thoughtful gift. Everyone's always getting you books but never any bookmarks."

As the Hogwarts Express trekked across the countryside, Hermione considered Luna's words.


	2. But There's No Escaping Your Love

It was three days after they’d returned to school when Draco found himself watching Hermione from a distance in the library.

As a general rule, no other students used the facility so near the beginning of term. They were all holed up in their respective common rooms, still bragging about their Christmas gifts and slacking off until the night before their assignments would be due. 

Instead of socializing in the post-holiday festivities, Draco sat at the same rickety table he’d joined Hermione at just over a month before, observing her toggle between several texts and scribble furiously on a parchment. From his vantage point, he could see the bookmarks he’d picked out for her acting as placeholders in three of her four tomes. Warmth pooled in his chest when he noticed she hadn’t immediately thrown them away and was actually _using_ them.

Shortly before it was time to return to Hogwarts, he had exchanged his galleons and sickles for pounds and ventured into Muggle London to find a bookshop. Draco had agonized for days prior about what to get for the woman he couldn’t stop thinking about. In fact, he’d agonized for even longer on _whether_ he should get her a Christmas present at all.

There was no doubt in his extremely distracted mind that she would not be getting him anything. He doubted she would even think of him over the holidays, let alone want to buy him a gift. No, she would be celebrating with family and friends and, Merlin forbid, lovers and be much too busy to pass a cursory thought on a childhood bully and ex-Death Eater.

But, still, he’d been distracted all holiday with thoughts of Hermione Granger and who she was with and what she was doing. He’d imagined so many impossible situations of their return to Hogwarts where she would renounce her old opinions of him and declare her undying love for him despite all odds. Usually those daydreams resulted in his face turning beet-red and his rushing off for a cold shower. He’d also tortured himself continuously with pictures of the Weasel snuggled intimately with Hermione on Christmas morn; sometimes in his visions she would smack the prick for getting too handsy and storm off, other times – to Draco’s horrified chagrin – she would moan and ask for more – _why_ would his subconscious force those repulsive thoughts on him?

After vomiting the entire contents of his stomach, he’d spent three days in a despondent pool of self-loathing, turning away the elf who had been sent to offer him his meals every few hours of the day.

One thing was certain: distance did not rid Draco of his feelings. If he’d hoped it would, he had been sorely mistaken. He hadn’t concerned himself with the thought much, but he’d definitely ruled out any variety of love potion by now, as well - they simply didn’t last this long, nor did they allow the ingester to pine as privately as he had. Additionally, when he was busy, he was able to concentrate on any number of other topics, be it classes or his apprenticeship or his Prefects’ duties. No, this was an old fashioned infatuation, one he didn’t know how to shake.

So, instead, he’d decided to show his affection with an old fashioned token of his interest, wrapped up and disguised as a belated Christmas present. And he’d bundled up the day before term started and braved the Muggle world by himself. While pacing down aisles of books, completely at a loss for what would interest Hermione, he’d stumbled upon a display of bookmarks.

A vast majority of them were plain cardstock with quotes of authors or literature printed in fancy script or bold, block letters, some were flexible plastic with prints of stacks of novels or wooded forests or baby animals and braided tassels in bright colors hanging off a small hole at the top, and others were unique in both their material and design.

At once, he’d thought of Hermione using scraps of parchment, broken quill feathers, opened envelopes from her morning mail, and chocolate bar wrappers to mark her place in the dozens of books she read on a daily basis. Maybe some bookmarks would be a more useful gift than a novel she may or may not appreciate. Perusing the selection in more detail, and after some consideration, he finally picked out six.

At the checkout Draco had balked at how inexpensive his gift had turned out to be. He’d be happy to empty his vaults for her, to buy her any form of expensive jewels or first edition texts – anything she desired. Instead he’d sacrificed mere knuts on the simplest of presents. Surrounding the register a spread of sweets sat enticingly, so he impulsively grabbed several bars of chocolate to add to his total.

When he’d arrived back at the Manor, he’d called their house elf to bring him wrapping paper and ribbon. Cater had fallen over herself to do the wrapping for him, but Draco stuck to his intuition and insisted that he be the one to do the job, without magic. (He’d cheated a bit when the fancy ribbon didn’t cooperate, and the bow wouldn’t tie straight, but that was beside the point.) In the end he had two nearly identical packages, one in green and the other in red for Christmas and Valentine’s Day, respectively.

Now, after following the witch of his desires into the nearly abandoned library, he tried to ignore the slimy feeling that slithered its way into his mind, a feeling that told him he was nothing but a sleazy stalker.

At that moment, Hermione pulled one of her open tomes towards herself, and tapped her chin with the end of her quill before taking the tip into her mouth and sucking. Before he had realized he was out of his seat, Draco found himself halfway across the room, walking steadily towards her.

Standing across the table from her, he put his hands on the back of a chair and bent forward slightly, hoping to disguise the hard-on that was twitching to life in his robes.

“Granger,” he managed to choke out without sounding too strangled.

Her head whipped up, eyes wide in alarm.

Clearing his throat, he spoke before she could send him away with an angry retort. “How much longer will it take to cure this? Just to cure it 'cause I can't ignore it if it's love.”

 _Fuck, where did all of that come from?_ He berated himself. Salazar, that was embarrassing. _Why don’t I just tell her all my private affairs?_ To his growing horror, that sounded more enticing than terrifying, despite the likelihood of her reacting poorly to every single thought and desire he’d ever had.

Just as he was considering fleeing, Hermione recovered her voice.

“What? No. _No._ You can _not_ be truly in love with me. There has got to be another explanation. You must be being consistently dosed with whatever that love potion was.”

Draco grimaced. “After the break, I very, seriously doubt that.”

Instead of turning back to her books for answers as he’d expected, Hermione abruptly stood, her chair scraping loudly against the stone floor. She snapped her textbooks shut, bookmarks safely tucked between the pages, swept them into her bag, and raced from the library without a second glance.

Draco hunched over the back of the chair that he had clenched in his fists. The wood edges pressed painfully into his palms, but the sharp ache in his chest overshadowed the mild discomfort. The tips of his toes and fingers tingled. He tightly shut his eyes and breathed heavily through his nose to manage the unexpected pain.

Fuck, if this was love, he wasn’t sure it was worth having a heart.

~*~

Theo was in the empty classroom in the dungeons that he’d commandeered the term before for his brewing. Just that morning he’d finally received a missive from Potioneer Mulpepper saying that he would be happy to take him under his wing at the end of his schooling, as long as he received an O on his Potions and Herbology NEWTs, and passing grades in the remainder of his courses. 

Potioneer Mulpepper had also tasked Theo with brewing at least five cauldrons of Pepper-Up Potion every week until he graduated, at which point he could work in the Apothecary under his tutelage. Theo had received a case of glass vials and a box of the necessary ingredients, along with his instructions, from a flock of exhausted looking owls. His first batch was due on Friday.

Pepper-Up Potion was a relatively easy potion to brew, OWL level wizards could whip one up with little difficulty, but five cauldrons in three days would take some careful time management and skill. Theo was up for the challenge.

That is, until Hermione Granger burst into his classroom.

His flinch was so strong it could have been called a recoil. His knees knocked the bottom of the table he was sitting at, jostling the cauldron perched delicately above his warming flame. Reaching out instinctively to keep the station from completely toppling over, Theo’s hand grasped the side of his pewter cauldron. A sharp burning immediately permeated his panic, and he snatched his tender hand back, abandoning the still swinging equipment.

Granger had her wand out in an instant, pointing it at Theo’s workstation. Her nonverbal spell quieted the chaos before him. After a few determined steps towards him, she took Theo’s injured hand in hers. She dug a burn-healing paste out of her tiny purse and deftly applied the orange cream to his hand. While she worked, she kept her narrowed, irate eyes down on his injury and remained pointedly silent, clearly fuming. Theo followed her example and kept his mouth shut despite the coiling curiosity of why she had interrupted him in the first place.

When she was done, she promptly dropped his hand and stepped back.

“I’ve just had the most disconcerting conversation with Malfoy,” she finally said, her voice level and monotone, as if she were restraining her temper.

Theo shifted in his seat as discreetly as possible and flicked his eyes to the door and back to hers before carefully choosing his words.

“And you thought I should know about this conversation?”

“As a matter of fact, I did. _Malfoy_ says he is in love with me.”

“Well, he has been pining for several months now,” Theo tried, blithely. The room had gotten suddenly warm, and he prayed Granger wasn’t going where he thought she might be going with this. How would she have found out about the modified Amortentia he’d developed on his own, anyway?

Granger put her hands on her hips and scowled deeply at him. Theo tried not to cower before her, but her fury was like a Fiendfyre, self-righteous and all consuming. Her frizzy hair crackled like the embers of a bonfire.

“Of course he has. He’s been dosed with love potion since November!” She practically shouted at him. The part of him that he’d buried deep within himself since the end of the War, the terrified boy that had been traumatized by his own father since infancy, begged for relief. He’d never admit it out loud, but Granger intimidated him.

Still he soldiered on, passing the blame in the hope that she would direct her ire elsewhere. 

“I fail to see what this has to do with me.”

“I know you’re the one who’s dosing him. You’re always with him at mealtimes.”

Suddenly defensive, Theo exclaimed, “No! That’s wrong! Draco hasn’t ingested any form of love potion in months!” 

The blood suddenly rushed out of Theo’s cheeks, an icy chill streaming down his face where he had been feverish moments before. A hollow ringing filled his ears like cotton had been shoved in them whilst he was underwater. He hadn’t meant to say that.

“That can’t be right,” Granger continued, as if not realizing his slip up, “A generic, weak love potion would not be sufficient to cause this sort of reaction in him. Even if you had access to true Amortentia, it would not explain his symptoms.” The deflection in her tone voiced the opinion she hadn’t overtly stated: she didn’t think he was capable of successfully brewing that potion.

She thought she had it all figured out. Miss Know-it-all. Fuck her. And fuck Malfoy. They really did deserve each other, such hyped up, conceited twats. He’d show her.

“As a matter of fact, that _can_ be right. I invented a love potion far superior to any brew of Amortentia the wizarding world has ever seen. It doesn’t create a false infatuation. _My_ potion hyper focuses the consumer to all of the positive traits of the first person he sees. It’s just been a happy side effect that Draco has actually fallen for you.” He snorted. “I guess once he saw it, he couldn’t ignore it, even after the potion wore off. Lucky you, Granger, His Highness Draco Malfoy, heir of the Malfoys _and_ the Blacks is irrevocably in love with little Mudblood _you_.”

By the end of his rant, Theo was breathing heavily. The ringing was muted but still audible, and his vision had tunneled until all he could focus on was Granger’s increasingly blanching face and her bush of curls. Obscurely, he thought she’d gone so still she looked quite like she’d Transfigured into a tree: her warm, chestnut brown skin had gone a little ashy and her hair bloomed about her head like rich foliage.

When she found her voice, it started quietly before increasing in volume, like a gust of wind rattling the boughs in a wood. “You're disgusting. I never thought you'd be so prejudiced as to use _that_ word. Not to mention that you would really invent a potion based on one of the most dangerous potions in the world and test it on Malfoy, someone allegedly your _friend_ without accounting for any of the repercussions that could follow?” 

Pondering the accusation for a moment while his world righted itself once more, he shrugged with a glower. “Yes, that does about summarize it.”

Before he could react, Granger spun on her heel and fled.

In the quiet that followed, Theo laughed. When the guffaws faded from his belly, he turned back to his desk to see if the potion in his cauldron was salvageable.

Just as Theo was setting the last cauldron to simmer through the night, he heard footsteps in the corridor outside – he hadn’t bothered to shut the door after Granger’s dramatic retreat. Mopping his forehead with a handkerchief and turning to face the door, he waited to see who was approaching. Maybe Granger was coming back for another round. Or perhaps she’d run to Malfoy, and he was coming to avenge her honour. He snorted to himself. Either way, this could prove to be fun.

Theo’s visions of grandeur were Stupefied before he could get too carried away, however, when Professors McGonagall and Snape glided into the classroom, and he was pulled up short. He gulped.

“Mr. Nott,” McGonagall greeted him sternly, her lips pursed so that the little wrinkles along her mouth lined up with each other. “Miss Granger has just informed us of some extremely disconcerting news.”

Theo folded his hands together to keep them from shaking.

“She says that you have admitted to experimenting with dangerous potions and testing them on another student without his knowledge or permission. Is this true?”

Theo was fully prepared to deny, _deny, deny_ , but then he caught sight of Professor Snape’s expression. His beady, black eyes were trained specifically on him, and one did not simply lie to the face of a man who had come back from the brink of death. The memory of Draco gossiping that Snape was an accomplished Legillimens also sprouted in his mind, and the words died on his tongue.

Instead he nodded morosely, eyes trained on his shoes. They were two-years-old, and the toes were scuffed.

“I am extremely disappointed in you, Mr. Nott. You had high promise. 

“You will report to Professor Snape every Saturday, promptly at seven PM, to serve detention as he sees fit. I have already alerted Potioneer Mulpepper to Miss Granger’s allegations as I am aware that you had been selected to apprentice under him for a Potions Mastery. Due to the lack of ethics you have shown, he is likely to drop you from the program. You will receive an owl from him in the morning informing you of his decision. Good evening.”

With that, the Headmistress turned on her heel and regally exited the classroom, leaving Theo’s whole future shattered before his eyes. Professor Snape remained, and with a discerning eye, he studied his student.

“As I recall, you were absent from class when I… admonished… my students for stealing particular ingredients from my personal stores.” He paused here to let Theo squirm. “I believe several of the ingredients that went missing could be used in the brewing of a love potion.” He was silent, then, for several breaths before he continued, “In addition to endangering a classmate with the… unfortunate consequences… of an unknown potion, you have also stolen. From. Me.

“Do you understand the gravity of your transgressions?”

The eerie calmness of his head of house was not unexpected or uncommon, but it was still as effective a tactic as ever. Theo swallowed. He nodded.

“Excellent. I will see you on Saturday.” Professor Snape turned, his voluminous robes billowing behind him. As he reached the doorway, he paused.

Without looking back to acknowledge Theo, he uttered, “As those ingredients and potions belong to Potioneer Mulpepper, you ought to finish those brews. Properly. Fill his order by Friday, otherwise he will be within his rights to press charges against you for theft.”

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Theo was left alone in the room, with only the sound of his potions bubbling in their stasis charms to accompany the moment his life fell out from under his feet.

~*~

After Hermione left the spruce Headmistress’s office, she wandered back towards Gryffindor Tower in a daze. She was fairly certain she was going into shock, but the events of the evening were only just starting to dawn on her.

Draco had told her he loved her. Again. Also, he’d always been fairly level headed about the whole thing, ever since that first day he’d approached her. She, admittedly, hadn’t believed him when he had insisted that there was no way he was being consistently dosed with potions, but in what world should she have believed that Draco _sodding_ Malfoy really was in love with her?

It had been much easier to just assume that his infatuation had nothing to do with _her_ and everything to do with a magical potion forcing his hand – or, rather, heart.

While ruminating on the past hour, Hermione made her way back to the common room without really paying attention to her surroundings. She knew all the hallways, corridors, secret passageways, and moving staircases like the back of her hand. She didn’t even need the Marauder’s Map, due to years of sneaking around with Harry as well as patrolling the castle as a Prefect. It was a relief to be able to focus on her introspection instead of her path.

Hermione made it back to the dorm room she shared with Ginny and the other seventh year Gryffindor girls without any issues, save for her swirling, festering thoughts. She unpacked her bag and changed into her pajamas without observing her surroundings, so it was a bit of a surprise when Ginny touched her shoulder.

“Oh!” she gasped. “Sorry, Ginny, my mind was elsewhere and you startled me.” She gave a weak chuckle that Ginny didn’t buy for a moment.

“What happened? You said you wouldn't be back from the library until curfew,” Ginny demanded.

“I… uh… Nothing. I just got tired,” Hermione hedged back, unsure if she wanted to admit to everything that had happened over the past several months regarding the Slytherin boys. She was rather embarrassed, and a squirmy feeling in her gut reminded her sharply of guilt. She was not interested in unpacking where _that_ had come from.

“Dragonshite. Tell me what’s wrong. You look like Voldemort’s just returned from the dead.”

“Don’t say things like that, Ginevra!” Hermione snapped impulsively, but after taking a look at Ginny’s unapologetic expression, she caved. “There was one evening in November after dinner that Malfoy approached me. He was acting very strange and obviously trying to impress me, so I took him to Madam Pomfrey. She thought he had been dosed with a love potion and gave him an antidote right away. But ever since then, he’s been watching me. And then, when I was getting ahead on homework tonight, he came up to me and asked how much longer to cure him because he couldn’t ignore it if he was in love." 

When Ginny only offered an intrigued raise of her eyebrows, she continued. "I’d already worked out that Nott was the one who was dosing him with that love potion, so I found him and confronted him about it. Of course he admitted to it," she said with an eye roll. Now that she'd started, though, the rest flowed out like a rushing waterfall. "But here’s the thing. Nott says Malfoy hasn’t ingested a love potion since that first day. Now he’s just convinced he’s _actually_ in love with me!”

At the end of her story, Hermione looked to Ginny for some sort of advice, or sympathy, or _something_. Instead, the usually brash witch was thoughtful, her eyebrows still perched high on her forehead.

“Those Muggle bookmarks were from him, weren't they? You love those.”

“Wh-what? That’s it?” Hermione spluttered. “Draco Malfoy may potentially be honestly in love with me, and that’s what you focus on? Bookmarks?”

Ginny shrugged, flicking a lock of auburn hair over her shoulder.

“Maybe you should give him a chance.”

“And why should I do that?” Hermione crossed her arms over her chest. She was not budging on this. The world had gone insane, and she, solely, had kept her wits about her.

“Look, ‘Mione, you’ve been working with him all year as a Prefect. At the beginning, there wasn’t a day that you didn’t complain about what an ass Malfoy was. And then, sometime right before the holidays, you stopped. He bought you Muggle gifts. He seems to have changed, and you deserve to have someone who's that in love with you."

"This is _Malfoy_. You know, the one whose father slipped a Horcrux into your school books when you were eleven? He let Death Eaters into Hogwarts. He's always hated Harry and your brother and me."

" _You_ and Harry and Snape acquitted him of all that," Ginny snapped suddenly, taking Hermione aback. "Isn't it time to leave the past in the past? I thought you told me this was the year of forgiveness and finding happiness?"

Hermione wiggled uncomfortably under the stern gaze of her friend. She grimaced before replying, her head down in consternation.

"You're right… But it's still _Malfoy_."

Clearly growing frustrated with Hermione's repetition, Ginny huffed. "Look, do what you want, but you know the properties of love potions don't create real love. If Malfoy thinks he's in love with you enough to tell you, he probably is." Softening her countenance, she put an encouraging hand on the side of Hermione's arm. "There's a lot to love about you; even Malfoy can recognize that. And that's not a bad thing."

With her piece said, Ginny tucked a curl behind Hermione's ear, looking encouragingly into her searching eyes, and left the room to rejoin her friends downstairs.

~*~

Despite Ginny's pep talk, Hermione avoided acting on anything regarding Malfoy or his unrequited feelings. Four weeks later, she still wasn’t able to smother the frown that overtook her any time her thoughts gravitated towards the blond Slytherin.

He'd gone back to silently pining from a distance; only this time she couldn't help but notice that he did so alone. He still sat behind her in classes where he could easily scrutinize her, but he no longer sat with Nott, cracking shallow grins or whispering in his ear. Fellow classmates gave him a wide berth of one or two empty chairs on all sides. If he wallowed, he did so stoically.

Valentine's Day came, and an influx of owls delivered flowers and chocolates and jewelry to the majority of the student body. Harry sent a huge bouquet of roses to Ginny who snorted inelegantly yet belied her true feelings by caressing some of the petals. She passed along a package of the smallest bar of chocolate that Honeyduke's sold to Hermione.

"Wow, really outdid yourself, Harry," Hermione deadpanned.

While rolling her eyes, she missed a large eagle owl land on her plate. When it started gobbling up her black pudding, she protested.

"Oi! Move along! That's my breakfast!" She waved her hands at it, nudging it gently in an attempt to keep its feathers out of her food.

"Who are you sup—" Hermione trailed off as she noticed the modest parcel tied to its talon. The paper was red, but she recognized the crimson and gold ribbon at once. Well, that answered that question.

Stealing a glance at the Slytherin table, she easily scouted Malfoy among his peers, his platinum locks like a beacon. His usually pale cheeks hinted at a pink flush, but she turned back to the wrapped box.

After relieving the owl of its burden, it choked down an egg before spreading its giant wings and taking off for the owlery.

 _Pretentious bird_ , Hermione thought, not unkindly.

She pulled off the bow and ripped open the paper rapidly. Lifting the lid off the box, she revealed a new array of bookmarks. One was a set of neon post it tabs that could be placed on several pages of a text - useful for long research essays when going back and forth between references. The second was a 2D Sherlock Holmes magnifying glass with an actual magnifier. The last one was a flat metal hook that would hang over the spine of a tome; a beautiful, red stone _H_ charm dangled off the end.

Unable to stop herself, Hermione felt a small grin tug at the corners of her mouth. Again, she'd been gifted Muggle bookmarks, clearly picked out with careful consideration. She tucked them gently but securely into her backpack, but before she could lift her eyes back up to the giver to see his reaction, a second, much smaller owl succinctly dropped a letter into her lap.

Startled, she inspected the formal envelope. With a quizzical quirk to her brow, Hermione slid her finger between the closing flap and the envelope.

The official parchment of St. Mungos met her eyes. Pulse racing in equal parts anxiety and hope, she unfolded the missive. With her eyes trailing down the informative words, she felt her heart stutter in her chest, and she choked on a viscous breath of air she sharply inhaled.

As calmly as she could manage, Hermione rose from her seat at the Gryffindor table. Leaving her unfinished breakfast for the elves to clean later, she walked to the doors leading out of the Great Hall. Her exit swam in her vision as moisture filled her eyes. Once she'd escaped the bustling, boisterous room, she leaned against the stone wall next to the open doorway.

Her respiration increased as she tried to control the amount of oxygen she brought into her lungs. Gripping onto the smooth, grey bricks as if they could ground her, she struggled against the suffocating feeling that made her feel as if she were being buried alive. The blood in her veins burned through her, making her skin hypersensitive, hot, and itchy.

"Granger?" A familiar male voice broke through the surface of her panic. Eyes snapping open, she found she was not face to face with the man she expected.

Theo Nott stood several paces away, eyeing her warily.

"I think you need a Calming Draught. I have one here." He reached slowly into his messenger bag to retrieve a glass phial.

Emotions out of control, Hermione snarled at him. "I'm not taking any potion you give me, Nott. Not when you've made your opinions of me blatant and have no qualms drugging your friends!"

Wiping her nose with the back of her sleeve, Hermione gathered herself enough to push off the wall, ignoring Nott's replying sneer. Concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other, she trekked to the hospital wing to ask Madam Pomfrey for a _real_ Calming Draught.

Her knees were weak and her chest was tight and a lump that wouldn’t budge no matter how many times she swallowed was stuck in her throat. Concentrating as she was on the effort to stay upright and moving forward, Hermione barely noted the first year Ravenclaw rushing down the stairs, late and sprinting not to miss breakfast. That is, until the girl stepped through a trick step and went sprawling down the staircase.

The girl released a blood curdling scream as her foot vanished and her momentum pitched her forward and down. She flung her bookbag away, opening her hands to catch herself, and the bag crashed against the hard floor, echoing up the stairwell. The crunch of glass breaking rang through the cacophony of sounds, and ink began seeping through the fabric of the bag like black blood.

Already fragile with poorly restrained shock, the fright of the young girl’s fall pushed Hermione over the edge into a near comatosed state. She stared bug-eyed at the sweet girl whom she had mentored several times over the last school year. Instead of the dark brown hair and wide brown eyes that had been there a moment before, though, she saw a small blonde body with a Gryffindor crest on school robes, blue eyes open and unseeing, much too young. While the hall had quieted, the sounds of battle ricocheted inside her skull, flashes of green and red clashing, bits of wall crumbling, fear and running and the feel of a wand clenched tightly in her fist.

_Are you okay?_

No, no I’m not. How can I be okay? Hermione asked back, into the void. She wetted her lips with her tongue and swore she could taste copper.

~*~

Draco was a few minutes behind Hermione; he hadn’t wanted to seem too eager to follow her when she’d abruptly left the Great Hall. He thought he had seen the glimpse of a smile tug on her lips before a small owl he didn’t recognize as one of the school’s dropped her a letter. Her expression had morphed from one of restrained joy to an upset tightness. Without a glance back at her friends, she’d fled.

Finishing his meal with forced patience, he finally deemed that enough time had passed to follow her from a distance. Like the deranged psychopath that he was.

Unexpectedly, Theo threw him a bone as he reached the end of the Slytherin table, near the doors. 

“She was having a right panic attack; she’s probably gone to Madam Pomfrey for a Calming Draught.”

Hesitating, unsure if he could trust his old friend after the stunt he’d pulled with that adapted Amortentia potion, Draco decided the information wouldn’t be worth ignoring, in case Theo was telling the truth. Giving a terse nod, he hurried out and in the direction of the hospital wing.

He discovered her shortly afterwards, collapsed on the staircase with the trick step near the top, her back hunched against the banister. Her eyes were open, unblinking, and he could see from where he was standing that her pupils were blown wide. Her breaths came in short, quick, whooshing gasps. A first year Ravenclaw, whom Draco had observed Hermione helping frequently throughout the year, was crouched over her, asking if she was alright. A backpack was discarded nearby, a broken pot of ink puddling on the step.

“Hermione?” Draco’s strangled voice gasped.

The first year whipped around, sighing in relief when she realized an older student – a Prefect – was there and could take over.

“I don’t know what happened,” she gushed, tears filling her eyes. “I tripped on the Vanishing Step, and then she just got really still and quiet, and then she just collapsed!” The frantic girl choked on sobs as she continued to try to explain. “I’m a Muggle-born and I always forget that the stairs here aren’t normal, and I still get lost, and I was running late, and, and, and—”

Despite the urge to tend to Hermione immediately, Draco realized he needed to calm the distraught girl before he could begin to focus on what Hermione needed. 

“Shh, shh, shh,” he cooed, reaching out a hand in peace. The girl promptly tucked herself into his chest in search of comfort.

Draco froze.

He hadn’t had such trusting physical touch in years. Clearly this girl had no idea who she was talking to.

After the initial astonishment, though, a giddy, bubbly feeling swelled inside him. He had an honest chance to be a source of peace for someone instead of pain and fear. And it didn’t matter who this tiny witch’s parents were because she was scared and needed someone to be her strength and tell her everything was going to be alright. And he could do that.

“It’s okay, little miss. It was an honest mistake. I’m going to tell you a secret, okay?”

She rubbed her red rimmed eyes with a fist and unfolded herself to show she was listening. Biting back a grin at the adorable sight, he said, “I’m a Pureblood, and I tripped on this staircase almost every time until my third year.” A miniscule smile fought to shine through the tears. “And Hermione’s going to be fine. She’s just a little stressed right now because she’s focusing on taking her NEWTs this year and wants to do really well. I’ll get her to Madam Pomfrey, and she’ll be right as wandwork in no time.”

Draco kept stock of Hermione out of his peripheral vision while soothing the Ravenclaw and noticed Hermione’s breath slow to a more normal pace. In contrast, the first year started to hiccough.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he suggested. Delicately pointing his wand at the girl, he pressed the wrinkles out of her robes. Her right sock pulled itself up to match its twin on her other ankle. Then he repaired the inkpot and siphoned the ink back into it. He was able to get the stain out of her backpack, but the stone where the pool had sat still carried a faint shadow. “One last thing,” he said.

Rummaging in his own bag, he pulled out one of the two bars of chocolate he had. He passed the sweet with the metallic purple wrapper to the girl. He’d bought the chocolate for Hermione, but somehow, when the girl’s eyes lit up in excitement, he thought she wouldn’t mind his sharing it on her behalf.

“Where did you get Cadbury’s? This is Muggle chocolate!”

“Too right, it is,” he chuckled. “And it’s good for feeling better after a scare. Don’t eat too much, though, there’s still time for a good breakfast.”

The first year smiled bashfully until she turned her focus back to Hermione.

“She’ll be just fine, I promise. You can probably find her in the library this evening if you really want to,” he headed her off before she could ask and potentially spin back into hysterics.

She nodded with blind conviction, trusting his word without question, but lingered until Draco had Hermione lifted safely in his arms. Then she rushed off to breakfast with her Muggle chocolate clutched tightly in her hand, and Draco headed up the stairs to bring Hermione to the school matron.

~*~

Hermione woke groggily on a stiff bed.

She vaguely remembered a strange dream including little Olivia Allen and Draco Malfoy comforting her. The part before that was a little fuzzy, and dark, and hurt her brain, so she stopped searching her subconscious for it.

A quiet shuffling behind her roused her attention, so she rolled over. Malfoy was getting to his feet, clearly trying to stealthily escape before she noticed him. Their eyes met in bewilderment.

Malfoy cleared his throat but otherwise froze.

Hermione broke the silence. “So that wasn’t all a dream?”

“Well how would I know what you dreamt about?” he drawled back, covering his insecurity with snark. With a start, Hermione wondered how she knew that that was the kind of thing he did.

“Olivia had fallen and you helped her and gave her chocolate…”

“If that little waif of a Ravenclaw is named Olivia, then you did not dream it.” His words were stilted now, and despite the fact that he inched one foot away from her, Hermione had the impression that he didn’t want to leave her side.

Going out on a limb, and to stop him leaving her just yet, she asked the first question that came to mind. “Why?”

“She needed the help.”

That was it. Malfoy said it like there had been no other rational action. The girl needed help, so he’d helped her.

“But she’s… Didn’t she tell you she’s Muggleborn?”

“Yes, but I don’t see how that’s relevant,” he replied seriously. He left it at that, so Hermione moved on too.

“What happened before that?”

She watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed.

“When I walked up, you looked like you were in the middle of an anxiety attack.” At the clear bafflement on her face, he continued, “I brought you up here after getting Miss Olivia squared away. Madam Pomfrey gave you a Calming Draught and a few drops of Dreamless Sleep to get you to relax. You’ve only been unconscious for around five minutes.” He cleared his throat at the end, again, and Hermione watched as a dark flush crept up his pale neck. His skin coloured so easily, she marvelled.

“You had this,” he reached out a crumpled letter with the St. Mungo’s watermark at the top. His eyes were on his feet, and his expression was one of pure contriteness. “I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have read— I’m sorry.”

With whatever instinct that had Hermione in sync with Malfoy’s emotions, she knew that the second apology had nothing to do with snooping, and everything to do with the contents of the letter. He didn’t ask for clarification, but suddenly, Hermione needed to talk about it with someone.

“It’s my parents,” she clarified, in case the names in the missive hadn’t been obvious enough. “I Obliviated them before the War really started in case they might be targeted by Dea—” She swallowed. “They’ve improved a lot, and this isn’t the _first_ relapse they’ve had, and it probably won’t be the last.”

Hermione took a deep, slow inhale to control the hysterics that were threatening to overwhelm her for a second time. She shut her eyes against the hot pressure behind them and reopened them at the sound of paper rustling.

Malfoy held out a row of chocolate squares.

“Where did you get Cadbury’s? That’s Muggle chocolate!”

A rumbling chuckle emanated from the blond man. 

“So I’ve been told.”

Staring wide eyed at the wizard, Hermione nibbled a bite of the sweet. The rich milk chocolate flavor washed across her tongue. The rush of endorphins was nigh instantaneous.

As if making calculations in his head, Malfoy gingerly retook his seat. After a steadying breath, he told her a tale of a lone Pureblood exchanging money at Gringotts and braving an unfamiliar Muggle world.

“If I could have read a book called _The London Underground: A History_ – or a survival guide, for that matter _–_ before venturing out there, I would have devoured the whole thing.” He was serious, but it made Hermione laugh. His resulting smile glowed like the sun.

By the time she’d finished her chocolate bar, Hermione was feeling much lighter at heart; several hours had passed in surprisingly good company. She mentioned that she thought it was odd that Madam Pomfrey hadn’t once come to check on her patient or scold her for decidedly not resting.

Malfoy shrugged. “Technically, you’re free to go whenever you’re feeling well enough. You’re not injured at all, and Madam Pomfrey left you a set of Calming Draughts. Be careful with those, though, taking too many too often can make you lethargic and drowsy. If you’re feeling anxious, take no more than—”

“One every three hours,” Hermione chimed in at the end with Malfoy. She grinned while he blushed.

“Right. You probably knew all that already.”

“It’s okay. I would have done the same to you. Or Ron or Harry,” she tagged on, feeling self-conscious.

They were both silent for several beats, not knowing what to say next; the conversation felt off kilter now.

“Thank you for distracting me for a bit.” Her tone came out with a hard edge, a finalization that she hadn’t meant to include.

“There will be a concerned first year Ravenclaw waiting for you in the library this evening,” Malfoy told her, his resignation that this was the end of their time together obvious. He tried valiantly to smother his pout; Hermione hoped he didn’t gamble because his poker face was pathetic.

“Would… Would you like to accompany me?” She offered.

With a slow grin, Draco accepted, offering her a hand to help her stand.

Hermione knew things probably wouldn’t be easy for the two of them, but this was a start at forgiveness, a start at happiness, and a start at a new beginning.

~The End~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope y'all liked my fic! If you did, don't forget to leave a kudos and/or comment! Both really brighten my day!
> 
> If you caught the song lyrics, don't forget to let me know, so I can award you House Points! 😉
> 
> And, finally, concrit is welcome! I did my best, and my betas caught tons of mistakes, but I'm always willing to hear how I can improve my craft. I'll use any flames, however, to roast marshmallows.


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